With Postscript to Follow: The SHIELD Codex Coda
by KhamanV
Summary: Loki comes to his friend's side one more time, and then finds good cause to celebrate all that has gone before. (The final short in the SHIELD Codex series, Codex 14)
1. Hello

(This short is the end of the arc begun in 'A Clear and Present Loki,' although for all I know it might not be the end of Loki's stories in this little off-the-grid corner of the Marvel universe. There's a lot of strange journeys he can still take, without the weight of Thanos and his own past hovering over him.

But just in case I don't get the chance to write those stories, this is where at least one journey alongside his friend ends.

Chapter 2 holds a lengthy 'actual' postscript after the end of the work. You're welcome to skip that part. The end of the story itself is marked with the usual end quote.)

With Postscript to Follow: The SHIELD Codex Coda

" _My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today." ~ Richard Adams, Watership Down_

. . .

1\. Hello

. . .

Loki put his hand on the cool steel railing of the hospital bed, looking down at the small, old man that was currently asleep in the nestle of white and pastel dotted sheets, and seeing someone much younger laying there instead. Warm morning light dappled the pillow from the window above, giving an illusion of gentler times. There was a low stool set close beside for visitors to use, and he gently tugged it in closer, the long fabric of his fine black cloak slung over his shoulder flung neatly out of his way as he settled in with a soft creak.

Phil Coulson's eyes fluttered open at the noise, muttering to himself before he managed to turn and look at his old friend. "You coulda at least pretended you had a streak of grey coming in, make me feel better," he said, his voice creaking much lower and with so much more effort than Loki remembered. His good hand came up in a waver, patting at Loki's where it still lay on the railing. "Thanks for coming. You're the last one."

"I know. The others are still in the waiting room."

"I remember. I've spoken to everyone else. I remember _that_." The human coughed a little, struggling himself a few inches upright. "It gets harder, but this is mostly one of the good days."

Loki nodded, discovering he was unable to say anything to that. May had told him in a missive before he arrived; the good days were coming fewer and fewer and during them, Phil knew that fact all too clearly. He was afraid each little gloaming might be the last one, and had made his preparations while he could. If there were any justice, he would have lasted to a greater age yet. No small part of Loki wondered – feared, in truth - if this rapid fall came of his human friend already having survived one death too many. Or perhaps it was simple mortal cruelty; these small, quick lives. Like a running stream.

"You don't look so good." Phil's general observations were still on point, however. He could hear the understatement in the gently needling words.

His smile was faltering as he tried to stay familiarly, gently sardonic. "I already saw you die once, I'm not much for repeats."

Coulson's eyes sharpened on him, seeing the truth plain. "I know." He lifted his head from the stack of pillows and looked him over. "How's Asgard doing? The king and all that."

He couldn't help curling his hand around the railing, feeling new pains bunch and gather inside his heart.

"Shit. I know, don't I?" Frustration burrowed grey eyebrows together as he fought his memories into submission. "Didn't I go to something? I thought-"

"You came to the coronation, Phil." Loki looked away, part of him hating this in a way that burned his chest into tightening like a vise. The absolute unfairness of implacable mortality. All he could see was that younger, forever smartass Phil, who had just simply never been frightened of him. That Phil wasn't gone, he endured too deeply inside Loki's mind, but he was so small now. And only briefly, fleetingly awake. It hurt. He had known all along this would someday come, but it didn't change the pain. Nor the sense that it was forever going to feel too soon.

"Yeah. Yeah... I remember now. You were already mostly gone by then. Just showed up when we really needed you, or I got the good whiskey in. Holidays. Couple weddings. I remember. There were the... the flowers and stuff, still from Odin's wake all over. God, that was... I can't grab it." He deepened the wrinkles in his brow, fingers working against the blanket as if the words might be found there.

Loki's voice was soft. "Over eight years ago. Still too quick."

"Yeah..." Phil's voice trailed off, looking up at the pale prince with the same, regal face high above the tall-collared tunic. His words became concerned, finding something to anchor to and making him a little more _there_. "Are you happy?"

He managed a faint laugh, real enough through his surge of mixed emotions. "Happier than you might expect. Thor's rule is great and golden and mighty, the warrior-king Asgard deserves. Our enemies have shattered before him, and those older conflicted have become our friends. His speeches are met with ferocious acclaim from our people, and their adoration for him will write his name boldly in all the books to come." Loki laughed again, this one knowing and somewhat stronger in the cool, antiseptic air of the hospice. "But when the people are truly needful they come to me, for they know I will get it done. I find _great_ satisfaction in that."

Phil chuckled at that, a low and dry and happy sound that for a moment threatened to become one of those weakening coughs that attacked too frequently now. He leaned forward a little to avoid it, taking a breath to settle the rattle inside. "You know, I'm pretty sure I remember you saying more than once that satisfaction wasn't in your nature."

The lingering humor faded into that small, sad smile Loki couldn't seem to bury down, couldn't fully mask with his old courtliness. "I come late to the discovery that it is a learned skill." The smile wavered, the cracks appearing, spreading, dragging down the corners of his mouth with it. The emotions took over abruptly, gaining a foothold in his swirling mind. Suddenly the older, wiser prince looked young and horrified with the sheer amount of his own sorrow. "Phil, what am I going to do without my _conscience_?"

Phil reached out and grabbed his wrist, surprisingly strong for this single moment. He kept his voice even enough, calm. "You just gotta finally grow one of your own." He stayed fixed on Loki's face. "How's the alliance thing? You just said something about that."

Loki swallowed, trying to center himself on the question. As a king's trusted advisor would. The words shook at first as they tumbled from him. "Jotunheim's permitted emissaries freely between the realms. The first in several millennia. I still hold some central ambassadorship on that, atop my other duties at Thor's side when I am there. The embassy holds a knot of paperwork each time the bridge opens, but I come and go as I like. Queen Farbauti finds this all intensely amusing, but I also think to some extent she truly misses the old king. The diplomacy proceeds so quick because she knows at the end that he would have liked that."

"They had kind one of those weird, crappy friendships building up, didn't they?" Another of those old, creaky chuckles. "Not that I know what it's like to make friends with some asshole you once cheerfully would have seen dead."

"After the giants' civil war, yes. I still think that odd friendship is why Odin lasted as long as he did." Loki took another slow inhale, feeling his steadiness come back in pieces. There had been months, even a few years towards the end where the Sleep overtook what hours the old king could remain awake. The brothers realized he had simply let go not long after Frigga's death and his reinstallation as king, lingering as long as he could bear it for the sake of the realm and its princes. "What they started to build, it will last at least our lifetimes and more as we work to shore it up."

Phil let go of his wrist, looking tired but also content. "That's what I hoped to hear. Listen, I need to ask you a favor. Last request deal, which is a little unfair and it kinda sucks because I can tell this whole conversation is killing you faster than it is me."

" _Phil._ "

He couldn't resist a grin at the sharply wounded note in the prince's voice. "Did she follow you in?"

"There is a black, black joke about the notion of her following me around and right now I've not the least mood for it." Loki found himself staring at the wrinkled hand trembling faintly at the edge of the bed. "Yes. She's just outside. She said... she said she knows when it's time to come in."

"She would. Listen, you keep an eye on the kids for me, alright? Just make Heimdall eyeball 'em once in a while, make sure they don't unleash anymore apocalypses, get in over their head. Don't, you know, you don't ever have to baby them. We made a good team out of 'em all. SHIELD's better than it ever was. They can take care of themselves. But when they can't, just... try and be there?"

Dark eyebrows furrowed at him, still pained. "Phil. I already do this. And I promise, it will endure. For as long as I can."

"Okay." He reached out to squeeze at Loki's wrist again, the strength in his fingers fading. "God damn, I'm tired. That's the really crap part of all this. Just being so tired all the time."

"I know." Loki laid his other hand atop where Phil touched him, not feeling the age spots, or the wrinkles that brought the blue veins so close to the skin. There was only the good and brighter past. "I know a little about that much weariness, if from a different angle. It's a heavy, dreadful weight."

"I just wanna put it down and go have fun again."

"I know." Loki took in a slow, shuddering inhale, fighting to find his voice. "You've a right to an Asgardian funeral, should you wish it. You've already done the human one, I think. No small fault of mine."

"Never do the same..." Phil's voice trailed off. For a moment, the confusion on his face was clear before his eyes sharpened on his friend again. "Is that with the boats and the flaming arrows?"

The world was becoming far too blurry for him. "Yes, it is."

"That would be _cool._ " A grin fought its way onto the aging, dying face. "You sure that's okay? It's a warrior thing. And I'm just old."

Under the threatening tears, real and frozen steel. "I'd like to see someone come to me over it. I would very much like them to try. Regardless, Thor and I have." He cleared his throat, blinking the world back into focus. "Already discussed the matter."

"Okay. Boats. Let everyone come if you can. Big party." Phil's fingers were weakening further. They slid free of Loki's skin, settling back into the blankets. "You should get out of here."

"Phil..."

"You've seen this magic trick before, you know how it works. Come on. Say goodbye and go."

Loki couldn't say the words. He put his long, white hand on the wrinkled brow for a long moment instead as the world began to fade once more, and they both knew what that meant.

As he rose, he saw the shadow come to the doorway. She was still human enough to pass unremarked where she walked on Earth, living a quiet life while also being everywhere. The pretty silk veil over her black hair was a pure and striking white. Salima, who was Death, smiled up at Loki, who could not speak in her presence. Not this time.

. . .

 _"Hello."_

 _"Hey, Salima. I remember the stars."_

 _"And they remember you, Phil Coulson. They remember you well indeed. They are bright and lasting, and they are all the memories we leave behind. Their energy does not leave this universe. Do you understand what I mean?"_

 _"I understand. Nothing really ends."_

 _"No, nothing does. We are the eternals. Are you ready to go home?"_

 _"Yeah. I am."_

 _One hand reached for another, and She smiled gently for him as their fingers intertwined._

. . .

Loki passed into the waiting room, not surprised to see it all but packed tight with those countless friends Phil had made in his strange and busy life. At the corridor that led to the yard he'd used for his arrival, four masked and beautifully armored women knelt, waiting for his word. Valkyries, sent in honor to guide that final passage.

First he looked to those close enough to be family, and there was still more pain for him to be found. May, smaller somehow now but still ferocious and powerful. She'd outlive them all, that much fire still within her. Jemma and Leo, holding hands and watching him. Mack, scalp still bare to hide the salt and pepper that flecked his brows instead. Steve, still almost as young looking as himself. That serum's gift and curse, at least for now. The elder Barton. Cool, distinguished Romanoff. And many he couldn't recognize.

Daisy Johnson's eyes were always going to be young, but there were thin streaks of pale grey in her dark hair now to remind him how relentless time was, and her face crumpled when she saw him. Loki held an arm out to her, curling his friend closer in a tight hug when she lunged in at the opening. Buried in the soft wool of the cloak under his chin, he could hear her crying.

At his glance, the valkyries rose in careful, respectful silence to pass down the hall from which he'd come. Daisy's thick, gurgling voice came filtering up. "That's what he wanted, right?"

"Yes. The bridge will hold open, and all who choose to come will be our honored guests." He stroked her hair, seeing in her still the young woman fighting to find a place of her own. Another one of the first to call him a friend. He looked past her to Leo, ginger hair cropped tight and wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. Leo looked back, hurt by the same loss but also stronger than he used to be. "We might grieve for weeks, Daisy, but he would never care for that. So we will hold vigil this day, and we will grieve the night. And in the morrow, we will celebrate him instead."


	2. And Goodbye

2\. And Goodbye

. . .

Golden Asgard, ancient and strange, did not fully understand why a mortal man from one of the smaller realms lay upon a magnificent bier set low before the great throne of their kingdom, but they understood that their beloved two brothers knelt before that new and temporary monument in vigil, and that they ached deeply for their lost friend. For their grief, visitors and mourners from several realms passed silently through the throne room, their arms loaded with flowers to lay and with lovely colored scraps of silk to cushion the honored dead as they were prepared for their final journey. They could do that much, and they did it gladly.

A prince and a king knelt side by side as equals now next to the strong fires that would burn through to the night as they kept watch, and they seldom spoke with each other as the mortal visitors thronged before them. They did not need to. This was a simple, shared grief.

Vanaheim's emissaries came as a matter of political respect, and a handful of older Nova Corp veterans who remembered the incursions and the aftermath of the generals' insurrection, and Farbauti herself attended not long before night drew close. She had opportunity once to meet the small human they mourned, and liked him immediately for his durability and irreverence. She knelt privately before the bier for a little while with her handmaidens and guards stepped well back. Not so much just for the dead, but for the pain she saw plainly marked upon the living, whom she had long since admitted some care for.

And of course the countless stream of humans who came and cried, and some of whom sat with the silent brothers for long hours to keep them company.

The streets were quiet as the unnatural sun began to lower past the horizon, its flicker setting the rainbow bridge alight with crystalline fire, and it was then that the bier began to make its way to the boat that would carry it to the gleaming edge of the sea. Asgard's people and the visiting humans filled the beaches with candles carried high, and some of them went to the grassy fields that overlooked the glassy expanse of the water. Asgard's small children threw yet more flowers from high windows to catch the breeze, many not yet understanding grief but understanding the worth of this sacred ritual to their elder family.

The brothers gave greying Clint Barton the arrow in quiet ceremony. He brought his own bow, sleek black and carved from the finest wood, and the flames never once sputtered as he took that perfect shot. His arm was still strong. The goldenwood arrow with its damascene tip slicked with magic oil arced up in a line of flame, up, drowning the first stars with its own light, and then fell. Then there was only the distant pyre upon the sea, already looking like the spark of a star until it reached the edge of Asgard.

There, by that realm's miracle, the pyre upon that sacred boat seemed to burn that much more brightly... and then rose.

. . .

"Hey." Daisy shoved her way through the crowd to get to the princes still by the side of the water, flapping her hand for Loki's attention. She got it immediately, the guards waved aside to let her through. "Hey. I have _no_ sense of timing when it comes to personal stuff, so I want to do this right now."

The black prince reached and grasped her gently high on the arm, still seeing a waver on her face to mirror his own. "What's that?"

"He wanted to make damn sure someone gave you something, so he set me up to do it." She fumbled in a pocket somewhere under the heavy cloak the palace staff had given her. A moment later and she came up with it, a rectangular leatherette box only a handful of inches square. "He said it was really important to him. And to you."

He took it, looking at her and not the odd gift at first. The top of the box pried open easily, and he found himself studying a small, antique watch. Loki frowned as he pulled it out to examine, his fingers catching the folded note before the breeze from the water took it away. Yes, just a watch. The dark strap was well-oiled and contrasted sharply against his fingers, and in the flickering light of the braziers set close by, he could see a handful of tiny scrapes where it had been pried open by some long ago amateur repairman.

Then Loki remembered, and he almost dropped it into the gently tromped soil at his feet. His fingers shook as he unfolded Phil's last note to him.

. . .

 _You used to tell me I couldn't fix everything, and I used to tell you right back I'd damn well try. To the very end, if I had to. Well, screw you, Loki. I fixed the watch. You get to live with that. So do that for me since I went and found that ending. Go live._

 _. . ._

A single drop caught the edge of the thin paper, sliding until it fell against his still trembling finger. "It wasn't quite the watch you fixed, was it?" Loki whispered. He put both the artifact and the note gently back into the box to seal it up tight, clutching it and all those warm old memories close in his palm. "I suppose you win the argument after all."

Daisy started crying again against her will, swallowing it down with a vicious set of angry hiccups. "Okay, I'm _really_ ready to make an ass out of myself again over galactic space wine."

He laughed, putting the box away within his robes and knowing exactly where in his quarters he would put the treasure. A place where it could be forever seen when he needed it. He took the hand of his friend when he was done, managing one of those old and familiar grins to try and help ease her own pain. "Weddings and funerals, Daisy. We make of ourselves an utter mess at both here in stolid, eternal, oh-so-very regal Asgard. There'll be vomit aflood in the streets come this next full morning. What awful pile could little you possibly add?"

Startled, she started heaving laughter against his side. It was one way to start feeling better.

. . .

"And I dinnae bloody believe it – Sif, back me up here!" Volstagg pounded his empty tankard on the thick wood of the table for emphasis. She laughed at his familiar old dramatics, her arm slung around her heavily drunk companion's neck as she nodded along with his slurring. "That heavy old door set aside neat as you please, its bolts stripped out like a hungry dwarf come 'round for scraps. The man himself run downt the hall to finish what he came for!" He swung the mug out, sloppily getting a refill as he teetered his way through his booming tale of the Son of Coul. His audience chortled, waiting for the punchline. "I make him show me how 'twas done later, how he rescues himself when I, Volstagg, one of our king's own mighty, set him aside in my shame, and he shows me this!"

Volstagg dropped the gushing mug with a thunk. First his palms set wide aside. Then his fingers curled in to leave only the pointers sticking out. Then, still wavering and unstable from many gallons of thick, dark beer, he pulled them in closer together. And closer. By the end, two fingers, indicating scant inches apart. "A damned pair of pliers _this wee_!"

Sif clapped at his shoulder, grinning like mad to show the tall tale was a true one. His audience roared approvingly, thudding their own tankards and goblets against the table and filling the great hall of kings with its cacophony of memories.

. . .

"He _kept_ the axe I had to use, do you believe that for not giving a goddamn?" Mack chortled. "Man, every time I walked in there into his office for something, I had to see that thing up in the glass. It was years before I stopped feeling bad about it. He tells me, over and over, don't, you did the right thing, you saved my life. And I know it's true, but you don't get over that real quick, you know what I'm saying? But that was some _cold_ shit, keeping that axe up there like a trophy."

"It's probably in the will for you," said the retired agent Melinda May in a deadpan. She broke her own joke with a grin, silvering hair knotted up artfully.

"Oh God, I hope not." Mack leaned back with a groan, rubbing a broad hand over his tall, bare brow. "I'd have to put it up right there in the living room next to the kitchen door, have it judge me every time I forget to sharpen my big butcher's knife."

. . .

"There are, and I'm not going to name names – _Romanoff_ – at least three major Avengers and twenty SHIELD guys that like to tease me and say he had a pair of pajamas knitted up like my World War II outfit." Steve Rogers actually giggled, the effects of pure Asgardian spirits strong enough to overcome even his own overclocked metabolism for small bursts. This was certainly the day for the attempt. Romanoff smirked with a roll of her eyes where she leaned against the tall marble and gold pillar behind the soldier, a much smaller cordial aloft in her hand. They were all wrapped in borrowed cloaks, pinned high on the shoulder with their various emblems as a mark of earned honor among the kingdom. "Do you know, I completely believe it."

"Ain't even mad?" asked Sam Wilson, his eyebrow wrinkling at the look on his buddy's face.

Steve shook his head, taking another strong sip with a wince while Thor in his rich red king's cloak grinned across at him. "Ain't even mad. It wasn't just some kinda hero worship. I got it. He understood the good things about what people try to turn me into. The way people and ideas aren't the same and they don't have to be. The symbol's not just the man, it means so much more. Anyway, after the Sokovia thing settled down, we actually got a chance to meet up a few times. The way he was into history. Sam, the guy was a walking encyclopedia. He wasn't the living Trouble Man, but I'm telling you, they could have sung a duet. He replaced Google for me for some of this stuff. It wasn't worship. It was just love for people, you know?"

"There were some dark times, though." This came in from Natasha, quiet. "He was like a lot of us during that period. He had to learn to be tough."

"He never quite got as hard as Nick Fury. Got close, sure." Barton finished up the thought as he idly scratched at his thick archer's arm. "But he didn't get quite as bitter as Nick did by the end. Never was as cynical."

Natasha looked down into her drink, her voice quiet. "I think it was Loki that helped a bit with that, if you can believe it."

Rogers nodded, sobriety always coming back to him too quickly. "I think it was, too."

. . .

Scott shifted on the golden bench, nudging his daughter with his elbow as he got to the good part. Cassie was grown now, and under the borrowed mourning cloak was a shirt marked with that same old stylized A he knew so well. "So, a few weeks later, I tell Phil all of what went down up there on the big warship. And I tell him what Loki told me to do if he got mind controlled, you know, beat his head into a wall as hard as I can like he owes me money. And he's like " _Did you?_ " And I'm like, 'No, it never came up!' And he paused, looked at me, and said, " _You shoulda anyway. Like he said, people would line up to pay for that chance._ " 'I didn't have a reason to!' Phil gets this grin starting that says it all for him, like I totally should have found an excuse to do it just once, just because I could. I'm staring at him in absolute shock, I'm completely offended at this point on Loki's behalf." He paused for a breath while Cassie's young friends started whooping laughter at the faces Scott made while he talked.

"And I'm still in shock, and I finally manage to just kinda gurgle out 'But he's your friend!'"

Scott imitated Phil's huge, sardonic grin. " _One of my best. And I always keep a twenty in my pocket for a shot like that. I'd have fought for first place in_ that _line._ "

. . .

Later, May held another small goblet where she sat wrapped in the shadows of the hall, talking quietly to Bobbi Morse. "He was my friend and I loved him for that. Real love. Didn't have to be anything else. Never any pressure. There were hitches and arguments, and sometimes we questioned trust and decisions, and there was always all the other stuff. But he was always my friend first. That's what made the fights worse." She drunk another large sip of her wine, contemplative. "I already miss the hell out of him."

Bobbi fiddled with her glass, nodding as she thought. "There's a weapons arena downstairs, according to the big guys. You want to go kick something until we either start feeling better or cry our heads clean off?"

"Oh my god, yes." May put the goblet down as she stood, still agile enough to pass for a regal old cat, then picked it back up after a second thought. "You think they'll bring us more wine down there?"

Bobbi scoffed. "In Asgard? Oh, hell yeah."

. . .

Thor put his hand on his brother's shoulder, feeling the thin shoulder shift under the layers of thick black wool and softer green silk. Loki turned from where he was observing a knot of his old friends to glance at him. "Do I find you well?"

"Ridiculous damn question." Loki's voice was still thick, all but choked on grief, but he looked steadily at the new king without any real ire. "At least I get to attend this one."

The way he said it had a deeper meaning, one that didn't need to be remarked on aloud. Thor nodded, frowning to show he shared at least some of that visible pain. "You could not ever be kept from this celebration. No one would dare try." He softened his voice. "You know well you earned your place back long ago. Still you act as if our kingdom fits you ill."

Loki looked away. "I may name a number of places as home these past years. There are pieces of me kept safe in all of them. I don't think that will or can change, Thor. Don't think that because you cannot collect all of me here in Asgard, it means less that I have named this as one such place to rest."

"Still, there's so much of you that remains away. I fret at that sometimes."

"Don't. It merely means – among else - that what I used to jest of remains the forever true. Earth, that little Midgard kingdom of ours, is a conservatory under careful and royal watch." He allowed a small, ironic grin. "I'm just much less of an ass about that fact now."

Thor's fingers squeezed in as he did when they were younger, and he smiled before looking up at the arched gold of their ceiling. "I near forget. There's another guest at the balcony outside, another mutual friend and one of all our acquaintance. She wished a few words with you before departing."

. . .

Salima turned to watch Loki arrive, her head still wrapped in the gleaming white of her mourning veil. Like all of them, the mortal shape she had chosen to take a lifetime with was much older now. Her voice was soft and fluid, touched with both Mumbai and London, and she looked tired enough to match his old weariness. "Hello again, Loki. I'm sorry about our last, most recent meeting."

He swallowed, feeling it catch hard in his throat. "It was his request, and your kindness. Your duty. I can't hold you in bitter nor angry esteem for that."

"But you grieve, and you will for some time." She beckoned him closer, patting at his arm when he approached. "That's good and right. He will have meaning, and he will have some shape of immortality. As do all lives in this universe we share. I am not cruel. I hold all your names tight within me, and I do not let you go to be lost."

Loki tried to clear his throat, mostly failing. He covered it by leaning against the ivy-wrapped balcony rail, looking out across Asgard's rich velvet horizon. Torches flickered through the night, matching the stars above. When he spoke again, it was with the dry humor they shared. "Just to ask... you're only visiting right now, yes?"

"Unless you'd care to make some formal request." She reached out again and squeezed at his forearm, ensuring he knew it was only a jest. "Which you will not. You have a long life ahead of you, Loki. And while it will not all be easy from here, it will be as valuable as any other life I've watched over." She let him go with a small, sad smile. "It's me who will be leaving soon, I'm afraid. It's well past time, but it's hard to let go."

He looked down at her, brows knitting together at the sorrow on her face. There was a hurt here, too, but she was right. And she would never really be gone. "That will be another loss I find I will grieve. Although for you, it would be only a small change."

"Yes. But mortality is, as our friend knew, a heavy thing." She clasped her hands together and leaned on the balcony next to him. "You, old trickster, favor one book much loved by humans. I found I favored another." Her voice lifted into a pretty lilt, a poet's melodious recital. _"I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret."_

Loki nodded in recognition of that old story, touching the act with a wry smile. "I would find it hard to believe that in all the breadth of the universe, this is the first time you walked so long among us smaller, flickering lives."

"And you would be correct, Loki." She smiled. "But that does not ever make the farewells any easier. I have regrets. And sorrows. And unlike that lovely story, I can weep at the end of my own." She inhaled, casting away the start of that very act as best she could. "But we are also now in those hours where we remember the good, and we look forward to the better that will yet come. Each life I have lived was a valuable one, and each one I keep close to my heart. All will be well, Loki. The stars will burn forever through the realities, and we all will be there among them."

In the silence, those stars moved only a little to mark the passing of time. She clucked, chiding herself. "I _must_ go. Death is never a wholly welcome guest. But I have been grateful for those friendships I have found here. It makes the leaving that much more special."

Loki reached out to touch her hand, his eyes closed in another farewell he couldn't bring himself to speak aloud. With one more smile for herself, she darted gracefully up to leave a single kiss high on his cheek. When he opened his eyes, Death was gone. Until that far away last day they might meet again. He found the idea didn't trouble him as much as it did once, but nor was he in any sort of a hurry to get there.

With one more inhale and a look above to the skies that held all his past and all his future, Loki went back inside to the golden warmth of Asgard, where his friends were waiting for him.

 _The End_

 _. . ._

" _Go, then. There are other worlds than these." Stephen King, The Dark Tower_

 _. . ._

 _March 6_ _th_ _, 2016. All relevant rights remain in the hands of Marvel with no infringement intended. All realities are fair game. All our demigods do whatever they want, because they've earned it._

 _. . ._

 ** _The Last Word:_**

To every reader that ticked the hit counter, to every person that pushed a kudo button or left a comment of any length, or drew a sketch, or was inspired to a fic of their own. Every one of you who gave me your time from the start of the series to now, whenever you came in, thank you very, very much. Those words simply aren't enough, which is ridiculous to realize when it's words that got us here. It's for the gift of your time that the series was finished as it should be, with a hard-earned and painful happy ending that just might have hurt me to write as much as it hurt you to read. Thank you. It was a pleasure to share that time with you.

There are, right now, no plans for a follow-up series. It doesn't mean that I won't ever return to this private iteration of the Marvel universe, because holy crap, look at all those open doors I seem to have left myself. (also, hey, Marvel, you hiring new novelists by chance? I'm available. I even have a couple pitches.) But there probably won't be anything ever again on this scale, and there won't be anything soon, because I need to try and remember how to love characters of my own as much as this pasty, incredibly pretty bastard and his friends made me love them. Damn them, it's going to be hard work. I've loved these guys an awful lot, and honestly, I'd happily write them for years to come if I could.

. . .

There is no major credit cookie beyond here. This is your notification that I'm about to get badly self-indulgent for too damn long and you can back out of the document at this point without missing much. Please cut me some slack, though, I've blown almost two years on this thing and need to unload for my own sake. I promise I won't crawl up my own rear.

So, one more time – thank you very much for coming along for the ride.

. . .

Still here? God help you.

There was never supposed to be a series. There wasn't even supposed to be _A Clear and Present Loki._

That's got to sound like the biggest Lokean lie I've dropped so far, but it's the truth. In the early days of the summer of 2014, I was probably about six months into avoiding paying attention to an image stuck in my head with absolutely incredible strength. This is usually how I get into trouble. Minding my own business, and then, The Image Strikes. I'd written a short called _One Second, Frozen in Twilight_ to attempt to dodge it. Was working on other stuff of my own. I was out of fanfic, I told people. I'd already given in on one last fan project that ate my soul like an Archway cookie and I was taking a break. Meanwhile, I'd seen _The Dark World_ in theaters on the strength of having enjoyed the characters involved in _The Avengers_ , and, this is also true, I had not yet seen the first Thor. The hook wasn't in that hard yet, but the bait was waggling.

For some backstory on getting to that moment, I once worked in a comic shop from roughly prior to a Marvel event called ' _House of M_ ' in 2005 to sometime well after ' _The Winter Soldier_ ' was published. This means I was in position when the first _Iron Man_ film dropped and people went _nuts_ for superheroes in an all new way. This was a weird, rough time for shops, as the graphic novel culture was taking over, supporting all these great new indies. We would see the new superhero films immediately so we could talk with regulars, though, and we would figure out how to rec stuff they might like. The irony of this time was that we would figure out a handful of important or fun arcs to rec to interested new readers, and then a bunch of indies to replace the superhero stuff, because the current crop of Marvel/DC weeklies and monthlies were often impenetrable to newbies! Want an introduction collection after enjoying your souped up CGI slamfest? Here's a black and white Essentials phonebook, that'll be immersive.

Marvel Comics was simply not on the approachable level of the MCU, and wouldn't be for a few years yet. They've improved hugely since, it's pretty neat. Sometimes I miss that job.

So, meanwhile, I saw _Iron Man_ , and got a crash course on things like the original Warren Ellis Extremis storyline. I saw Cap and _Iron Man 2_ and came in early to work to catch up and figure out how I was going to keep the young kiddies away from _The Ultimates_ but maybe hook 'em on _Runaways_ or _Bone_. I did not see _Thor_ , the only Marvel film I missed the theatrical run of since the new MCU started. My interest wasn't high enough to overcome some large personal things going on, resulting in a move out of state. I was also long gone from the job by then. I recall hearing on a later visit to the area that half our regulars didn't see _Thor._ It went through the hole for me – and the rec picks were pretty slight. As for fans of this interesting, Shakespearean new Loki, then still best known in comics wearing a green leotard? Well... Kieron Gillen's _Journey Into Mystery_ was beginning around the time the movie came out, but this new version with its Kid Loki hadn't taken full hold in everyone's imaginations just yet.

I liked everything I saw. I even went to and then enjoyed _Dark World_ well enough on the strength of _The Avengers_ alone, enjoying the interaction of Thor and the same interesting, rather attractive asshole that made everything terrible in the previous film. And not long after, as _Agents of SHIELD_ came on the air, The Image struck and promptly got buried. Finally I did watch Thor, finding it much more fun than I'd heard. For certain, it was Odin and The Little Shit that stole that movie for me. But still I ignored The Image, steadfast against temptation. Until I couldn't.

It was the 2013 San Diego Comic Con footage, where Loki himself took the stage.

The _goddamn_ SDCC thing, can you believe that? I am a sucker to my core for the implications of fucking up reality on the meta, and, months after the event, finally watching the Youtube footage of that dude live and on stage commanding, what, a few thousand people with a single finger to his lips _blew my mind_.

So, The Image. It was a simple lark, a Stephen King-style 'Wouldn't it be funny if...'

Wouldn't it be funny if the newly returned Phil Coulson found Loki in a bar, and they had a cute little light talk, Goodfellas-style, while Phil leaned paternally atop that massive Destroyer-inspired gun in an implicit threat?

Man, it'd be great to see _that_ reunion. But I sure as hell wasn't going to write it.

The Codex series has spread itself out over half a million words, look how great that promise to myself worked. I have written my free vision of Loki the rough equivalent of 1.75 George R. R. Martin novels. I did the math. Someone help me.

Okay, so. Early Summer 2014. My husband went out of town on a job for several weeks. Within days, I got skunk-fuck drunk. I do this rarely, and every time, it's a bad scene. I am a dangerous, frighteningly sober drunk. I get on livechats and talk garbled philosophy with scared college kids looking for A/S/L. I will attempt prophecy. I exorcise spirits from my house. And, god help us all, sometimes I write.

This time, I wrote. I woke up the next morning with my mouth full of a bottle's hairy ass and I staggered to the computer with a bad feeling, and I read the two chapters containing The Image that I had written at some point around a vodka-filled 2 am (chapters that, with just some editing to hide the drunk, are in fact the first two chapters of _Clear and Present Loki_ ), and I said, very clearly, 'Shit.'

Because I abruptly knew where the story was going. Broadly. There were a lot of elements that didn't get sorted out right away. Initially that first tale dealt more with the Hand than what you read, with me looking into some fairly weird ideas. A stolen girl with great import to the balance, and something to do with a different obscure member of the cult. Not what happened then, in favor of me stumbling delightedly across some other trivia about the Lovecraftian elements often found in Doctor Strange comics, but a lot of that still got reused later on. Those early notions of a young girl in the balance eventually became Death Herself, and she was not going to be anyone's damsel. But still. There was a story here.

So I gave in, because why not, my husband was out of town, and that first fic completed with a neatness that I started to find scary. That was it, I figured. Good story, wrap it up, move on. A couple months later, very bored, I started doodling ideas for a follow-up. No big. A more military spy drama to stretch my genre skills. So, I wrote it, laughing when it also became a big _Aliens_ homage.

And then I realized I was screwed. By the end of _Rolling Thunder_ , the arc had started falling into place before my eyes. I knew where Loki was going. I could see Thanos's profile in the deep distance. All of this clicking in with that creepy, clean neatness. The huge amount of canon and weird trivia in Marvel means that you can find a puzzle piece that suits just about any idea you have, but still. The Codex in large parts wrote itself with a kind of happy fervor that makes me give every single iteration of Loki one hell of a sideways glance.

 _An Honest Man_ wrote itself in about three weeks. By the time it was done, the first notes for _When The Man Comes Around_ had started. Despite knowing that there were several longer stories that were needed to shape the parabola between then and now, I already had some idea of who the major players were going to be for the finale, and how they were going to get there. Meanwhile, the MCU itself locked extra pieces into place for me as I went. _The Janus Paradox_ originally featured Bruce Banner as the baffled sidekick, _Age of Ultron_ forcing me down the – ultimately much better – road of dragging Fitz along and giving Tony Stark a fat cameo. _Guardians of the Galaxy_ basically caused the bulk of _An Honest Man_. Doctor Strange seemed a natural fit for a longer story, having been referenced at the outset and then, later, becoming officially part of the MCU. Doom – look, I just really wanted to write a good Doom story. And Ant-Man? Well, Ant-Man came late to the party, but he earned a prime spot for the big showdown.

None of this was supposed to happen. Here's the other big truth that's going to sound like bullshit: I originally set _Clear and Present Loki_ up for Loki to _lose_ in a big way. To show the consequences of what he'd done, and give SHIELD, and my then-favorite character, Phil, a bigger heroic role.

That little showy bastard. As he does, he wormed out a new path through the whole thing as I typed. He still had to eat consequences, but a wonky-fun story about SHIELD became instead a much more sprawling fan-epic where Loki (now somehow again the center stage diva, of course) slowly takes his head out of his ass like a groundhog.

There are probably _at least_ several thousand Lokis out there if you think about it. The sheer number of official variations across film and comic panel. The vast and sometimes shared mythology of the Trickster throughout human history. And the private version each fan of the above comes up with in their head. Each one of these small gods carves out their own reality and sets up their own bendy rules. That's what a trickster does – that's what the storyteller does. They don't die. They don't stay down. Sooner or later, the good story will win out and it's the trickster that laughs his way out the door and through the next.

Loki, whether of Asgard or of Jotunheim, or just Loki, is a tenacious god. This isn't a goodbye for this one I helped make, not between him and me, and maybe not between him and you. He doesn't like farewells that much; the last page of a book is too often blank and in need of a good few extra words. But for now it's a goodbye from me to you.

Thank you.

And thank you to Tom Hiddleston (who will never read this, but damn it, I mean it), whose career may have more than a little to owe to this showy bastard, but who has more than enough talent and hard-earned skill to take him through whatever door of story he himself might choose next.

Anyway. Thank you once more. We'll see each other again on the next page.

Jun 2014 – March 2016, MDS.

. . .

 _ _And Loki said quietly just to you,__

 _" _Well. We had some fun, didn't we?"__

 _ _as he turned out the light above him with a snap of his fingers.__


End file.
